


The End of the World as We Know It

by Lady_Nuwanda



Series: The End of the World as We Know It [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: American Horror Story AU, CharacterXReader smut (eventually), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Nuwanda/pseuds/Lady_Nuwanda





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you know why you are here?”

I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help rolling my eyes a little at the question. This wasn’t my first time in a therapist’s office, although it was my first one-on-one session with Doctor Venable. I looked out the window, embarrassed by my own reaction. I knew it was cold outside, but you couldn’t tell it from inside Doctor Venable’s office. It wasn’t exactly cute and cosy, but it was nice enough, with elegant classic furniture. Very tidy, very neat, like Doctor Venable herself. Shades of purple seemed to be a theme in her office, as well as her life. You didn’t have to think much to figure out whose idea it was to make the wristband that carried our name-tags purple.

“I’m sorry for starting out with such an obvious question…”, she smiled with a small chuckle and lowered her eyes, “but I need to know just how far your understanding of the situation goes, if I want to help you.” Those beautiful brown eyes were burning into mine again, behind stylish prescription glasses. She had a gentle way of making you feel comfortable in her presence. The kind of therapist I’d want to be when I had my Psychology major. If I ever did.

“Yes…”, my voice was raspy for lack of use, so I cleared my throat, “I know why I’m here. You’re not gonna ask me to tell you about my mother, are you?”, I gave an awkward half-laugh and regretted my own silly joke almost immediately. My mother was probably the last thing I wanted to talk about now. I knew she was probably heartbroken by what I did, but I just couldn’t deal with it yet. “It’s only our first meeting, I’d rather get to know you better before being introduced to your family…”, she gave me a kind smile. She understood. She knew I wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t the kind of therapist that would give me a nod of fake understanding and ask me “and how does that make you _feel_?”, and I was grateful to her for being better than that.

The session was over before I even knew it, and it wasn’t half as bad as I had expected. I was heading back to the “common room” of Hawthorne Hospital, were I was expected to socialise with the other patients. The building had been a boarding school for boys, before being a hospital, so the corridors were wide, lined with tall glass windows. As far as a mental institutions go, I think it could be a lot worse, it wasn’t at all an unpleasant place. As usual, I sat next to Andre. It’s not that he was particularly friendly, in fact he hadn’t had a single interaction with anyone since he got to the hospital. Which made him my new best friend, of course. It’s not like anyone would go into a mental hospital with the intention of making friends, anyway.

But Coco and Gallant were friends. He was suffering from anorexia, and had a real breakdown when his grandmother found out that he was gay and kicked him out of the house. Coco was bulimic, tale as old as time, she started counting calories and grew obsessed with it, you add a pinch of body dysmorphia to it, and here she is. They obviously clicked right away. And they were always around Evie, an elderly patient with some sort of dementia. The poor lady could talk, in colourful details, about the Golden Age of Hollywood for hours, but couldn’t remember what flavour of jell-o she’d had for desert at lunch.

Those three had made a nice little family for themselves in the hospital, and I was happy for them. But I just couldn’t bring myself to follow their lead. I’d rather stay with my non-responsive friend, the only other patient who was around my age. His story was truly heartbreaking. He was the victim of a hate crime, his boyfriend was beaten to death right in front of his eyes, and he was probably gonna be next, if the police hadn’t arrived. After that he’d just closed in on himself, never speaking another word to anyone.

“You know you are supposed to use this time in the common room to make friends, exchange your experiences with your fellow patients…”, Nurse Mallory was standing beside our table, both hands on her hips in a mock scolding stance.

“I was just spending some quality time here with my friend Andre.”, I gave her my most angelic smile and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Really? From where I was standing it was almost like you were using the poor man as a human shield…”

“It’s actually the other way around, I was the one shielding him… from her.” I shot a glance at Dinah Stevens across the room and Nurse Mallory followed my gaze.

Dinah Stevens was a minor celebrity, kind of a tv personality. She had a talk show on a local channel, or something. Apparently she had dropped her basket when her show was not renewed for another season. It was a full-on meltdown that included aggression against her crew members and a little bit of stalking at the channel’s new attraction, some former teacher named Cordelia. If Dinah Stevens was a regular citizen, she would probably be facing charges and doing some time in jail. Since she was rich, and somewhat famous, she had ended up here instead. Someone on her PR team had come up with the idea of her helping someone from inside the hospital, in order to improve her reputation. And she had adopted poor Andre as her “project”.

“Aren’t you little miss selfless… I guess you deserve a little treat, then.”, she winked and got something really small from the front pocket of her grey uniform and placed the tiny piece of chocolate in my hand.

“Mallory you’re an angel!”, I shoved the chocolate in my mouth and just let it melt on my tongue so it would last longer. Only then I remembered to look at my Andre, wondering if he’d want a bite, but as usual he didn’t even seem to notice I was there, “But, seriously, who else do you want me to make friends with? The Youngsters?”

That’s what we called Tim and Emily, the last two patients in Wing 3 of Hawthorne Hospital, the youngest of us. Tim was one of those perfect straight-A kids, but as he realised he was failing his SATs he had lost himself to substance abuse. Apparently Emily was here for that too, but in her case it was to run away from a messed up childhood. They were obviously in love, and they were absolutely adorable! Specially the way they seemed to think that no one else knew… Everyone pretended it was a secret. Their puppy-love was a beautiful thing to watch. It gave us all hope.

“So instead, you chose to stay here _not_ talking to Andre…”

“And enjoying the magnificent soundtrack of the common room!”

“Tell me about it! Doctor Pfister and Doctor Nutter seem to think it’s relaxing…”

“Yeah but, come on, playing lyrics like ‘calling occupants of interplanetary craft’ in a mental hospital? You gotta admit that’s poor taste!”

“I do, but they own the place… they’re the bosses! Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to tell you…”

Really, bless Mallory for her snuck chocolates and good-hearted gossip! She was the only thing that made me feel slightly normal in this place. She took my mind from my own shame and guilt, and made me believe I could leave this place and live a normal life again. I was looking at her eyes through her thick glasses, waiting for her to serve the new tea.

“There’s a new patient in Wing 3, Doctor Mead’s bringing him in to the common room for the first time today…”, Doctor Mead was responsible for our group activities. She was the one trying to get us all to socialise and share our experiences, always with a new group-dynamics exercise, or just some plain physical exercise. She was very outdoorsy, Doctor Mead. I hated it about her. Although I did like the woman herself and her cheerful disposition.

“And what’s the deal with him?”

“Same as you, apparently…”

“Oh.”

So another failed suicide attempt. I was already feeling some sort of sympathy towards my new companion, before even meeting him. How could I not? He had wanted his life to end so bad, that he had attempted to do it with his own hands. Unsuccessfully. That’s something I could relate with a little too much. As we talked, the Carpenters song ended and the first notes to Patience&Prudence’s Tonight You Belong to Me began to play. I gave Mallory a side glance “Seriously! If you’re not crazy by the time you get in here, you’re definitely going to be by the time you leave…”, she laughed as the doors to the common room opened and we both looked to see who it was.

It was a tall young man, followed by Doctor Mead, walking in sure black Converse-clad steps, wearing a plain black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans. His long blond hair was tied in a loose knot behind his head, and there were dark circles around his sharp blue eyes. Still he looked around at everyone in the room, like an eagle choosing his pray in mid-flight, both his hands behind his back. All my sympathy for him was gone the moment I saw him, simply because he didn’t seem to need any of that: He was so intimidating, I believe he would have actually been offended by it, he would tell me to shove my sympathy where the sun doesn’t shine. He seemed to be very much in charge of himself, and of everyone else, for that matter. The icy glint of his eyes fell on me and I gasped, probably rather loudly. I saw the shadow of a smug smile on his full lips before he turned his beautiful face away.

He spotted Tim and Emily in one corner and decided to join the, now terrified looking, young couple. When I came back to myself, I saw that even my friend Andre was staring, slightly open-mouthed, at the newcomer. I looked, round-eyed myself I bet, at Mallory and the sweet nurse gave me the closest thing to a pretentious smile she could muster “That’s Michael Langdon, your new buddy…”

_My honey I know_

_With the dawn, that you will be gone_

_But tonight you belong to me_

_Just to little old me_


	2. Chapter 2

It was an obscenely cold morning for outdoor activities, but I didn’t even have to voice my protests at Doctor Mead, Coco and Gallant were already doing that, loud and clear, enough to compensate for the rest of our little shivering crowd. Nobody seemed happy to be outside except, of course, Dinah Stevens. She was telling the newcomer how very “invigorating” the fresh morning air was and he was listening politely, but probably too cold to reply.

But we definitely could use some distraction from recent events involving Tim and Emily For all the time they had been there, we have been watching over Hawthorne Hospital’s star-crossed lovers. But like the responsible adults we were, we always tried to make sure they weren’t braking any of the hospital’s rules. Specially the ones that were supposed to limit the level of intimacy between patients. You could barely say they were more than teenagers, but if they felt happy in each other’s company or looking doe-eyed at each other from across the room, holding hands under the table or even stealing kisses in remote corners of the halls, we would be glad to pretend to look the other way. They were not hurting anyone, and if this could make their recovery a little easier, who were we to judge? But isn’t it intriguing that they had been the first people Michael Langdon spoke to when he entered Wing 3 and then, only a couple of days later, the young couple had been caught having sex in a broom-closet by a member of the hospital staff? What a funny coincidence.

That’s the kind of thing that made it impossible for me to trust Michael Langdon. I probably shouldn’t blame him for the naughty behaviour of horny teenagers, but I just couldn’t help it. When Doctor Mead announced that we would be playing a game of Dodgeball in that freezing morning, I kinda enjoyed the possibility of hitting that smug perfect face of his with a ball. Accidentally, of course. Mead’s announcement was met with a look of pure dismay shared by nine pairs of eyes under woollen hats, mouths and noses covered by scarves. Not that it would ever be enough to brake Doctor Meads spirits. She said Dodgeball would be perfect to get everybody’s blood flowing, and we would all be feeling a lot warmer in no time.

I knew what she meant. Dodgeball was about self-preservation, team work and fighting back. Everything we lacked. She might actually be right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of my frozen fingers would just fall off, if it got hit the wrong way by the ball. She said the new guy should be captain of one of the teams, and I volunteered to be the other. Easiest way to make sure we’d not be on the same team. “Ladies first”, Michael made a short curtesy and I made a conscious effort to think he was being polite, and not patronising. I wasn’t looking forward to the part where I’d have to choose the players - too many awful school memories - so I just picked Andre first. Not that I actually thought he was going play at all, I just wanted to make him feel included.

I got Andre, Emily and Gallant, Michael’s team had Coco, Tim and Dinah. Since we were now an odd number, Evie would be the referee. I wasn’t sure there even were referees in Dodgeball, but I couldn’t find the energy to question, eight grown-ups playing with balls on a freezing morning in a hospital yard was already weird enough for me. I was so focused on my intent of hitting Michael that I was probably single-handedly responsible for making our team lose. Well, that and the fact that Andre would barely move at all during the game. I felt bad for Gallant and Emily, they were actually taking the game seriously, bless their souls. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t throw the ball in my direction once. He wouldn’t even look at me. Not even when Dinah Stevens wanted so bad to rub their victory in our faces. Like winning that stupid game actually meant something, the insufferable cow.

My dislike for Michael Langdon had started with the Tim and Emily incident, but it was really set in stone during his first session in group therapy. I was trying to grow some sympathy for him back into my heart, when he began his story. I kept looking at the tell-tale bandages around his wrists and felt honestly sorry for him. Until he opened his mouth and stated, in so many words, that he was the son of the Devil. He said he had been born cursed. That his mother and twin brother had died so he could live. His mother’s widowed husband had never accepted the spawn of Satan in his house, so he was raised by his grandmother. I nearly laughed out loud when he got to the part where he had aged ten years overnight, but he was being dead serious. And worse: the others seemed to be buying into it, somehow. You hear a crazy story and you call bullshit, right? But then you see that everyone else is taking those words to their hearts, and looking teary-eyed at the person telling the story, you start wondering who’s really the crazy one in the room…

Doctor Mead was right, in the end, as the game went on we all ended up peeling off some of the layers of wool that covered our bodies. I had stayed a little behind, after the game, gathering my stuff to go back inside, but I couldn’t find my scarf. I looked up and the boy-Devil himself was holding it out for me. I reached out to grab it in a harsh movement, but he wouldn’t let go when I pulled. So I ended up pulling myself towards him by my own force instead, stumbling a little forward, both of us grabbing tightly to the piece of wool. I looked at him properly for the first time in that morning, with an angry frown on my face, and found the blue flames of his eyes blazing on mine.

“You really don’t like me.”, this wasn’t in any way a question, “You are so… angry.”

“Am I that obvious?”, I tried to keep my tone light, unsuccessfully.

“Not to everyone, but I was paying attention.”, he finally let go of my scarf “I know you’re in pain.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock! I have tried to kill myself and now I’m a patient in a mental institution… what makes you think I’m in pain? It’s probably because of your mad satanic powers…”, the painfully sad look on his eyes made me regret my words the moment they left my lips.

“I know how you feel because… I feel it too”, he looked down and bit into his lower lip before he continued, “I can help you. I am not unlike you.”

“Well, I am nothing like you.”, I turned on my heels and walked towards the main building, without looking back. Mostly because I didn’t want him to see the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

To be honest, I had never cried all the time I had been at Hawthorne, and I had no idea why a short interaction with Michael Langdon would make me want to. But even Doctor Venable seemed worried about me, when I was in her office that afternoon. Probably because I refused to sit down and kept pacing around the room, talking about my nemesis.

“It’s just so infuriating! How everyone has decided to humour him on his fantasies… like he can actually be who he says he is!”

“And that really bothers you?”

“Why? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me, or not. I’m not the patient. And for that matter, while we’re having our sessions in here, neither is him. You’re my only concern while your in therapy.”

There was a certain kindness to the way she said those words, but I still had to turn away and look out the window to hide my embarrassment. Doctor Venable was right. I should be using our time together to heal myself, and I had just spent almost half an hour talking about somebody else. She got up from her armchair and I heard her footsteps punctuated by the sound of her cane on the floor as she walked towards me.

“All the time you have been here, you’ve been my most cooperating patient, you’ve always been so committed to your treatment, and I thought we were making great progress…”

“I am committed to my treatment!”

“… the stories Michael Langdon tells are his way of coping with his own life story. The question is: how do you cope with your story?”

I had to think about it for a moment before responding “I don’t think I do…”, I said it in my smallest voice.

“Maybe that’s what bothers you so much about him. The way I see it, if he can make you this agitated just by being around you, it’s probably because you have something to learn from him…”

“Doctor Venable, I don’t wanna be a bitch… but what could I possibly learn from a guy that says the world is about to end, and that he’s here to lead the few chosen ones to safety?”

“Who’s to say he’s wrong? The end of the world doesn’t have to be something as dramatic as a literal nuclear blast, it can be anything! The point is: every end marks a new beginning… some things have to die for others to exist. This end could be just the breaking of a cycle, it could be freedom… but is it really the end that you fear, or whatever may come next?”

I left Venable’s office feeling slightly dizzy. I wanted nothing more than to go to my room and lay down for a while, to process everything my therapist had said. It was certainly a lot to take in, all at once. But as I passed the common room I saw that all the patients in Wing 3 were gathered around the sofa on one corner, with a few of the nurses. Michael had one arm around Gallant’s shoulder, while Gallant was resting his head in one of Michael’s. As approached the sofa, I heard the soft tones of Michael’s voice, as he leaned his face against the top of Gallant’s head, “She died peacefully in her sleep… she’s in a better place now, she’s free.”

I saw that Nurse Mallory was sitting on the sofa, with Coco kneeling on the floor beside her, Coco’s head resting on Mallory’s lap while silent tears fell from my fellow patient’s eyes. So, _Evie_. Evie was gone. Dinah was holding the hand of an indifferent Andre, and Tim and Emily were crying in each other’s arms, unashamed to be so open in front of everyone else. And it’s not like someone would have the heart to break them apart in that moment, either. Mallory looked at me, still gently running her fingers through Coco’s hair, and I saw there were unshed tears in the nurse’s eyes as well. She didn’t say a word, but the look she gave me spoke clearly enough: She was inviting me to join the mourning crowd. I froze in place for a second, merely shaking my head and mouthing “I can’t” at Mallory, and I left the common room as fast as I could without actually running.

I sought refuge in the “Arts and Crafts” room, a place I had avoided like the plague, so far. There were drawing and painting supplies in there, a typing machine and a piano. And also an entire wall covered by a mirror, where we were encouraged to dance until we were too exhausted to think about our problems, or until the exercise had given us enough endorphins so the problems wouldn’t seem so serious anymore. Whatever happened first. I kneeled on the floor and cried like I never had before. I let the tears roll down my cheeks freely, never bothering to wipe them away and howled the pain out of me like I was some wounded animal. I cried for Evie’s parting. I cried for Gallant and Coco, that were going to miss her the most. But I also cried for me. For what my life had become, for hurting my family and friends by trying to end my own life. For not being able to. For not believing I would ever feel well again. I just cried, until I saw my own glistening eyes in the mirror.

Taking slow deep breaths, I stood up and gave a long, good look at the girl staring back at me through the looking glass. It was something I hadn’t actually done, since “the incident”. I’d take quick glances in the bathroom mirror when I was brushing my teeth, or washing my face, but I would never really, properly look at myself. So that’s what I did now. The girl in the mirror was pale, like someone who hasn’t seen the sun in years, and had dark circles around her eyes. She was skinnier than I remembered, and not in a good way. But it was the utter sadness in her eyes that really worried me. She looked like she was never going to be able to feel hope again. But I remembered how fiercely she had fought to stay alive, when I tried to destroy her body. She had fought back whatever was trying to end her, and she defeated it. She was so strong! I had underestimated her so much…

I took my woollen hat off and let my hair down. Everyday I’d wash my hair in the shower and comb it afterwards, I didn’t want to be one of those depressed people with dirty, tangled hair. But then I’d just cover it with a hat, so I wouldn’t have to think about it again. Now it was no surprise that it would fall a little flat, looking thin and neglected. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to style it in way that wouldn’t be completely awful to my own eyes. The common room radio played in the arts & crafts room as well. Even though the speakers were off over there, in a sign of respect for Evie’s passing, somebody had forgotten to turn them off in here, and I heard the guitar intro to the song Time in a Bottle begin to play.

I moved my body ever so slightly to the irresistible melody. It was such a sweet song. I thought about the days when dancing was my entire life, when I had the dream of being a professional ballerina. I thought about the little girl that I was, giving everything she’d got in those ballet lessons, how happy she was before the illness that killed all the joy from her life. And I danced for her, for all her hopes and dreams. I simply moved my body to the song, waiting for my feet to remember the moves by themselves. I closed my eyes and just let go, moving around with nothing specific in mind, just feeling the music, the familiar soft impact of my feet on the floor. My muscles remembered, and they’re were happy to be dancing again. I was happy.

As the final chords of the song played I opened my eyes, and the girl in the mirror looked a lot better than before. I was relieved to notice she had flushed cheeks and a slight smile on her lips, but I was terrified to see a tall, blonde figure standing by the door. He started to apologise hastily the moment my eyes found his on the mirror “Please don’t be mad! I just wanted to see if you were ok. And then… you looked so blissful while you were dancing, I didn’t want to disturb you”, Michael Langdon’s words sounded sincere, but I still felt like he had walked in on me while I was in the shower.

“And you had to sneak around silently, like a snake?”

“In my defense, I don’t think you would have noticed me, even if I had stomped into the room like an elephant…” he chuckled a little shyly, walking in my direction.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed the show, at least…”, I really hoped he would just drop dead, he had no business being there, why couldn’t he just get hit by a lightning.

“To be honest, I think you were moving a little too fast for that song.”

“Excuse me???”, the absolute _nerve_ on this guy!

“Nothing that would ruin the general picture, tho…”, he smirked standing in front of me.

“Well, I had no idea I was being judged by a specialist…”

“Not quite so, but my grandma loves jazz… she would teach me a few moves when she was in her good days”, I just stared at him at those words, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, and he continued “fine! She liked to dance when she was drunk, since there was no one else in the house to dance with her, she thought me a little as soon as she thought I was tall enough… satisfied?”

“That I can believe.”, he took one of my hands and held it to his chest, above his heart.

“You feel the song with your heart, and you dance following its beating…”, he gently tapped the long fingers of the hand that held mine on the back if my hand, following his own heartbeats.

That was the most intimate moment I had shared with anyone inside the hospital. I can’t remember the last time I had been close enough, and silent enough, to someone so I could just feel their heartbeats. My own heart felt like it was beating hard against my throat, and I could almost feel tears stinging my eyes again, but I couldn’t look away from him. Michael Langdon’s silvery blue eyes were sweet and warm, and I had no choice but to stand there, my palm on his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily. I realised that his heart had also fought hard for the right to keep on beating. And it did so now, strong and proud under my palm.

“We can draw a square on the floor with our feet, moving clockwise and starting right… your right, not mine: Because women are always right.”

“Your grandmother?”, I laughed for the first time in what felt like ages.

“She heard it from a jazz singer in a bar, when she was a teenager…”, he laughed back at me.

I knew the song that was playing now, it was called Devil’s Playground, by The Rigs, and I thought it was ironically appropriate. Michael never let go of my hand on his chest, but placed the other one on the small of my back, while I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and we started moving as he had said. He really was a good dance partner, his grandma had thought him well. He lead me around the room with smooth and sure steps, his sweet eyes on mine all the time.

_Come, if you’re curious to see_

_Pull the tricks out of my sleeve_

_All you find is yours to keep_

_Brave, are you brave enough to meet_

_The desires that you seek_

_Hold my hand, I’ll set you free_

As the song went on, our steps grew softer and smaller, until we were barely moving our feet at all. He pulled me a little closer and rested his cheek gently on mine, while our bodies slowly swayed together. After everything that’s happened to me, I‘d had the feeling that I would just crumble to dust if someone ever touched me again, but the skin-on-skin contact of his cheek on mine seemed to be the only thing anchoring me to the world right now. His body was so close, it felt so good, so safe. His warm embrace made me feel alive again. I had already forgotten what it felt like, the proximity of another human-being. He was so real, so alive, it was almost overwhelming. The earthly scent of his body was so human, I had no idea how much I had missed that until that moment. It was only then, when it was melting away inside Michael’s embrace, that I noticed how I had encased my heart in ice all this time. But it was gone, now. The ice never stood a chance to the gentle grip of his hand on mine, his firm hand on my back, the smooth touch of his cheek. I found myself running the fingers of my free hand through the silky stray hairs on the back of his neck, that had come loose from the knot he wore, and I felt his breath hitching on his throat at my touch.

_Come, pull up your throne and sit_

_Where good and bad cease to exist_

_Here your command is our wish_

_Feast on the fruit of every tree_

_You can bathe in every dream_

_These chains of freedom are yours to keep_

It happened so naturally, none of us would ever be able to tell who started it, but Michael and I were soon lost in each other’s lips. It was a kiss that felt as old as time, like it had been happening since the beginning of the world. But his tongue tasted like all things new, like being reborn. The fire I felt burning inside my chest made me wonder if I had ever really been alive before this moment. And the hunger on his hands and his tongue told me that he felt the same.

I felt my back being slammed against something flat and hard, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. The only thing I cared about was the weight of Michael’s body pinning me against the wall. His hands sliding down my thighs, catching me behind the knees and lifting me up from the ground. He pressed his body on mine even harder, grinding his hips for friction, moaning softly with desire. I felt a hardness against my core and we both whimpered lightly into each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss.

He pulled away a little, still holding me firmly against the wall, and rested his forehead on mine, both of us breathing hard. “We can’t do this.”, his voice was just a pained whisper, but it was enough to break the spell. He let my legs back down slowly, and didn’t remove his hands from my thighs until I was standing firmly on my own two feet. With a gentle hand on the back of my head, he kissed my forehead, and left the room without looking at me again. Leaving me there all alone, feeling colder and emptier than I’d ever felt.

_Welcome to the devil’s playground_

_You can tread where demons play_

_It’s your Candyland where dreamers dance_

_And I promise that it’s safe_

_Welcome to the devil’s playground_

_You can look and you can touch_

_It’s a real fine day at the black parade_

_And I swear it won’t cost much_


	3. Chapter 3

Michael Langdon was ill.

Apparently he was bedridden with a fever, and hadn’t left his room in some time. Last time I saw Michael was when he left me breathless and alone in the Arts&Crafts room. Deep down, I knew I was better off like this, but I still found myself missing him. Dearly. Even though he had blatantly rejected me, and I knew I should be angry. Or ashamed. Or something. I had bigger fish to fry, right now. Our little encounter had left me feeling raw and exposed. All the walls I had carefully built around me had been destroyed, and I felt like bursting to tears at any given moment. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but at the same time a craved the proximity. I saw Gallant and Coco’s friendship and part of me wanted to be that close to someone, but on the other hand, just looking at Tim and Emily being cute and sweet with each other caused me physical pain. It was almost like I could still feel Michael Langdon’s hands on me, like his touch had been branded on my body with fire.

Doctor Eve was doing her rounds while we had our meals. She was the doctor responsible for our physical health, a huge amazon of a woman with surprisingly delicate manners. She was some sort of digital influencer, apparently, she a ran a nutrition blog or something. Doctor Eve had been a somewhat famous bodybuilder (under a stage name, “The Fist”… pretty fierce, if you ask me), before getting into med school, and she was Gallant and Coco’s worst nightmare. I had the feeling they were hers, too. She was trying to get the patients to eat fresh fruit today, but most of us simply couldn’t be any less interested.

“You could at least try not to look so pleased by his absence, Princess…”, why the hell was Dinah Stevens sitting in front of me at the table? And talking to me?

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve shown nothing but hostility towards the poor boy ever since he walked in here… would it have killed you to show him a little kindness?”

“Lady, your friend claimed to be the Devil and talked about the end of the world… my attitude towards him should be the smallest of your concerns”, I was feeling hurt and offended by Dinah’s sudden attack, but the worst part was the tight feeling in my throat telling me the waterworks were about to start anytime now.

“Don’t you watch the news? The world _is_ ending before our eyes! Michael was only smart enough to realise it in time and come up with a plan…”

“Right. The safety bunkers. Good luck with that.”, I was about to get myself up and leave when Dinah grabbed my arm to make me stay put.

“You and Bulimia-Barbie over there already caused Nurse Mallory to be suspended from the hospital… but you don’t care, do you? You don’t care if Mallory loses her job, you don’t care if Michael dies…”

“Mallory was suspended?”, it’s true, I hadn’t seen my nurse friend since Evie’s passing, but with the emotional roller-coaster I had been going through I didn’t even pay much attention to it.

“You selfish girls didn’t want a nurse, you wanted a nanny! And now the poor girl’s gonna have to stay away from the hospital for who knows how long…”

“Mrs. Stevens, do I have to remind you what it means for someone with your history to be harassing a fellow patient like that?” Doctor Eve’s figure was towering over Dinah and she quickly let go of my arm and got up apologising. Apologising to the doctor, not to me. Like it was Doctor Eve’s arm she had been holding. “I won’t bother her again, Doctor, I’ve got no reason to talk to her… after all, I’ll always go to the winning side. And that’s _not_ it.”, with a final sneer in my direction, Dinah Stevens finally left, and I saw the tall doctor rolling her eyes at her words. But she had the usual kind smile back on her face when she looked at me.

“Are you ok? You didn’t really let her get to you, did you?”, she looked honestly worried about me, and now I was at risk of crying again because I was so moved that someone would be nice to me.

“I’m ok. Thanks, Doctor Eve.”

“Here!”, she handed me an apple, “I know you prefer chocolates… but fruit is actually good for you, you know?”, I couldn’t help giving a little smile looking at the apple in my hands after the kind doctor left me. I had a fellow patient claiming to be the Antichrist, and now a got an _apple_ from Doctor _Eve_. Was this place really supposed to make me sane?

I had to talk to Doctor Venable, so I went to her office, even though it wasn’t even nearly close to the time of my appointment. She greeted me at the door with her usual politeness, but told me she was expecting someone else in a few minutes, so it really wasn’t the best time to talk. “Is it my fault that Nurse Mallory was suspended?”, I couldn’t hold it in, I just needed to know. “I guess I can spare you five minutes.”, she took a step to the side with a resigned sigh and let me into her office.

“No, it wasn’t your fault. What makes you think it could have been?”, she seemed more worried than angry, and I wasn’t exactly sure this was any better.

“Nurse Mallory was very friendly towards me, we… talked.”, I felt more stupid the more I talked.

“I know.”, she gave me a somewhat condescending smile, “We realised that it helped you make sense of your situation, and that it was good for your treatment. She was encouraged to talk to you.”

“And the chocolates?”

“Chocolates can stimulate the production of endorphins… it’s highly recommended for depressive patients. As long as they don’t present any diabetic or cholesterol condition… I can assure you, you were not the only one receiving those treats.”

Now I was embarrassed to be so self-absorbed that I didn’t even notice what else was going on in the hospital at all. And I thought I had been paying attention! “Nurse Mallory’s behaviour on the occasion of Evie’s passing happened to have been very unprofessional. Specially in what concerned Miss Vanderbilt, she let herself get too close… that’s why the hospital directors decided to send her away for a few days.”, so it wasn’t my fault. And Mallory wasn’t going to lose her job. I left Doctor Venable’s office feeling like a weight had been taken from my shoulders, and I saw an elegant blonde woman approaching the door I had just exited through. As I walked away down the hall, I heard Doctor Venable greeting the older woman as “Mrs. Langdon”.

Michael’s grandmother was here.

It was none of my business. It wasn’t helping anyone. I shouldn’t do this. But I needed to. I had to talk to that woman. I needed to know the true story of Michael Langdon. I told myself that it was like Doctor Venable had said, I needed information to make sense of my reality. It would help my treatment. I wasn’t simply snooping around. Right? Right. So I made sure to spend the next minutes wandering somewhere between the door to Doctor Venable’s office and the hospital exit. Waiting for an opportunity to meet Mrs. Langdon.

And then what? What the hell was I going to say to her? I was going to have to improvise as I saw Mrs. Langdon herself walking down the hall towards where I was awkwardly standing, just as “Radio Hawthorne” began to play Fleetwood Mac’s Gold Dust Woman, like on cue. She passed by me in hurried steps, looking for something inside her tiny handbag when I just spurted out “Mrs. Langdon, may I have a word?”, like a maniac would. She looked me up and down, clearly considering whether or not I was worthy of her time, and I tried to give her my most “sane person” smile. “If you can get that word during the time I take to smoke a cigarette, you may…”, and she walked out the door without looking at me again. I had no choice but follow her to the hospital yard.

“Mrs. Langdon I need to ask you a question abo…”

“My failed modelling career? How I gave up my Hollywood dreams to take care if a dysfunctional family?”, she spoke through the cigarette between her lips, while impatiently flicking her lighter to it.

“What… no. Actually, I…”

“Of course you want to talk about my grandson…”, she blew out a small cloud of smoke rolling her eyes, “do you think I don’t know that doe-eyed curiosity when I see it?”

That was a bad start. Clearly she thought I wanted to talk about Michael because I had a crush on him. I needed her to take me seriously, or she wouldn’t tell me the truth. “Actually, Mrs. Langdon, your grandson has been telling some very disturbing stories since he got here, and…”, she interrupted me again, Mrs. Langdon seemed really determined not to let me finish a sentence, “Oh, right. You’re just concerned… no special interest. Sure.”, she resumed her walking with an ironic chuckle, and I found myself following her again.

“Is he still going on with that Son of the Devil bullshit?”

“So you knew?”

“Oh, yes… he started this little number of his when he was living with me.”, she stopped, straightening her posture and said looking deep into my eyes “my name is Michael Langdon, and I am the Antichrist”, in a spot-on impression of Michael’s solemn tones.

Mrs. Langdon (Constance, as I learned that day) was one of those people who was always craving an audience. At first she acted like she didn’t want to spill her precious beans at a random girl, but deep down she revelled in the attention. All I had to do was nod eventually and make some encouraging sounds, and she could talk for days! She told me all about Michael’s birth. The part about his mother and twin brother was true, and his father did reject him at first. He hadn’t mentioned his older sister, however, a teenage girl who overdosed on pills before their mother even got pregnant with the twins. I had to admit that the way she killed herself resonated with my own story… is that why Michael approached me that day, after the Dodgeball game? Did I somehow remind him of the sister he never met?

“Michael was a difficult child, and showed his dark tendencies from a very early age…”, she told me how he liked to kill bugs and small animals, and leave them around the house like presents. I can understand how that must have been disturbing for Constance, but that’s not exactly unusual on small children who had lost a close relative at a very young age. That doesn’t make a child evil, those “experiments” were his way of understanding death. It’s a coping mechanism. He needed guidance, not punishment. My heart broke a little for the little orphaned boy, rejected by his father, and whose only parental figure saw him as a naturally evil creature.

Apparently things took a mean left turn when his father finally decided he wanted his son living in his house. Constance wouldn’t give me too many details, but she said that Michael went through all sorts of physical and psychological abuse during the ten years he lived with his father. I bit my lips and kept looking at my own feet, so I wouldn’t give away what I was thinking. Ten years. The ten years Michael claimed to have aged overnight, when he was telling his story, during that first group-therapy session. Constance assured me Michael’s father wasn’t a bad person, but he never really recovered from what happened to his wife. At the end of those ten years, the man ended up taking his own life (“I guess we know where the suicidal tendencies come from, after all”, Constance added bitterly), and Michael went back to his grandmother’s house. It was during the next few years that he got really serious with his Antichrist talk.

“Do you know what he said when he woke up in the hospital, after slitting his wrists?”, she looked at me again like she’d just remembered I was even there, “that he wasn’t trying to kill himself, it was blood ritual… to bring him closer to his real father.”, she pointed a finger to the ground and I understood she meant hell. Satan. “I’d say if you cut your wrist like he did you really are bound to meet your maker soon, one way or the other.”, she stepped on the tip that was left of her cigarette, blowing the last bit of smoke out. “You know, little girl, you are not the first woman to make a fool of herself over a male member of the Langdon family… but you can still steer clear from this path, before you do something truly regretful.”

She left a few moments later, when her ride arrived. A car driven by a beautiful woman, younger than Constance, with blond wavy hair and orange clip-on nails. None of them looked at me as they drove away, and I walked slowly back to the common room thinking about the story I had heard. About how every single person who had been important for Michael had either been taken from him, before he was even born, or had forsaken him as an evil spawn. I felt sorry for Constance Langdon, who had to watch her beautiful, perfect family crumble to dust, and her precious grandson losing his mind. But my sympathies for the woman had been seriously compromised during the minutes we stood there waiting for her friend to pick her up, when she mentioned she had come to the hospital to say she wanted nothing to do with Michael anymore. She said he was a grown man, he would be perfectly capable of taking care of himself, whenever he left the hospital. I thought it was very cold-hearted of her, but some people can be like that. She was blind do Michael’s suffering. To Constance, he was just an inconvenient sidekick in a story where she was the tragic hero.

_One of these nights_

_You’ll wake up crying_

_But I won’t be there to comfort you_

_You’ll turn on the light_

_But you’ll go on crying_

_‘Cause only my true love_

_Can chase away your blues_

_Oh, yes, you’re gonna learn_

_I’m not the only one_

_Whose heart will burn_

_'Cause someday, baby, someday, darling_

_You’re gonna miss me_

I was sitting on a sofa in the common room, holding my legs curled against my body, resting my chin on my knees, looking out the window at a grey afternoon. I was crying silent, lonely tears thinking about the tragic Langdon family, while listening to Connie Francis’s morose tune Someday You’re Gonna Miss Me. And I thought again about Constance’s final advice to me. So I wasn’t the first woman to make a fool of herself over a male member of the Langdon family. She said I could still get away before I did something I might regret, but I knew I would have far more reasons to regret if I didn’t do anything, at all. For some reason Michael had reached out to me, even when I didn’t seem the least bit inclined to associate with him. “Just another woman making a fool of herself for a Langdon”, maybe. That was not what worried me. I just didn’t want to be another person to let Michael down, when he asked for help. Maybe I wasn’t so well, myself, to be able to help anyone… but at least I wouldn’t turn him away. For once in his lonely life, he had reached out to someone who was actually willing to hold his hand back.

I wasn’t sure I was really allowed to do this, visit another patient alone in his room. But I couldn’t remember anyone explicitly telling me this was forbidden, either. He was asleep in his bed, his long hair framing his face on the pillow. His arms were resting on his stomach, his wrists still wrapped in bandages. He didn’t seem to be sleeping peacefully. Not that he was having an agitated slumber, he just looked sad and exhausted, like someone who had cried himself to sleep. Every night. For years. He looked paler than the last time I had seen him, and somewhat… younger. It was like he had already lost some weight during the time he had been sick, his beautiful face looked a little gaunt.

Shakespeare’s words were echoing inside my head, as I looked at his sleeping form: _Give me my Romeo and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars. And he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night…_, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead with my fingers, as gently as I could, I found myself muttering “Please, Michael, just don’t die ok? You don’t have to be alone, anymore… just stay alive. Please.”, under my breath, like a prayer. His skin felt a lot colder to the touch than I expected, even more so considering he had been down with a fever. There was a helplessness about him now, so unlike the confident young man I had seen walking into the common room with Doctor Mead all those days before.

I might not have been sure I was allowed to visit him alone, but I was pretty sure I was not allowed to do what I did next. I squeezed in what little room was left in Michael’s bed, curling myself against the side of his body. Some kind of primal instinct I didn’t even know I had told me I needed to give him some warmth, that it would keep him safe somehow. Like putting my arms around his body would make me able to keep him together. With my head resting lightly on his chest, I ended up dozing off for a moment, listening to the reassuring sound of his beating heart. I woke up to the soft touch of his fingertips on the arm I left over his stomach, the most gentle and soothing caress. But I must have stirred a little then, for as soon as my eyes fluttered open I heard his low, soft voice coming from somewhere near my head “I was afraid it was just a dream… like you were going to disappear the moment I woke up”.

I sat myself up on the bed facing him “How do you feel, Michael?”. He pulled himself up to a sitting position as best as he could, “I feel better than I’ve felt in a very long time”, he gave me a tired but honest smile, she seemed glad in spite of his own physical weakness, “to what do I owe the honour of your visit?”, he held my hand and his blue eyes locked on mine, warm as molten silver. “I saw your grandmother. She was here.”, his face went hard and cold at my words, a painful shadow over his lovely eyes now.

“She told me… everything. Michael, I’m so sorry…”, he inhaled deeply, flaring his nostrils and turned his face away looking out the window, his jaw clenched. I felt bad for bringing this up, but it wouldn’t be right to stop before I had said what I truly wanted “It’s not your fault, Michael.”, he didn’t respond, “None of it was ever your fault.”, I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You think I don’t know that?”, he was still not looking at me, but at least he was saying something.

“I need to know just how far your understanding of the situation goes, if I want to help you…”, I didn’t know why I was repeating the words Doctor Venable had said to me back at him, but they seemed appropriate…

“I understand the situation well enough. I’m not stupid.”, he seemed to be making a huge effort to not let his voice break, still avoiding my eyes.

“Then you must know that you are not evil.”, he pulled his hand from mine and I couldn’t hold the tears inside my eyes anymore.

“Why are you telling me this?”, at least he glanced in my direction again.

“Because it’s true. It’s not your fault.”

“Cut it out”, there were tears in the eyes that looked at me, too.

“Michael. It’s not your fault.”

“What do you care?”, he asked through gritted teeth, tears rolling down his cheeks now.

“I just do.”, I shrugged helplessly, “I care about you.”, I took his hand again afraid he was going to pull it away, but he didn’t, “it was never your fault, Michael.”

He leaned towards me, burying his face on my chest and throwing his arms around my waist and just cried, sobbing almost silently in my arms, his body shaking ever so slightly. I simply held him there, running my fingers through his hair and trying to soothe him with shushing sounds, until his crying was finally done and, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he looked at me again. His slightly red and flushed face was so close to mine, I could see his eyelashes were wet with tears. He cupped my face with both hands and closed his full lips on mine, very gently at first.

His kiss grew more urgent, his touch more demanding, one hand got entangled in my hair, the other moved to the curve of my back pulling me closer. His sweet tongue dancing with mine, making me burn with desire, forgetting where I was. Nothing else was real. Just Michael. The feel of him. The need of him. He broke the kiss as gently as possible, resting his forehead on mine again, and I held my breath, afraid he was going to reject me like the other time. But he simply brought one gentle hand to my face, his thumb brushing lightly on my tear-stained cheek. When he spoke again his voice was low and a little hoarse, but clear enough.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“What?”, I could not have heard what I thought I had, “what do you mean out of here?”

“I literally mean anywhere but in here.”, there were playful undertones to his voice, but the look he gave me was of utter seriousness.

“We can’t do that, we’re not allowed to leave the hospital…”

“Why the hell not? We’re not prisoners, this isn’t Briarcliff…”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”

“Briarcliff! An asylum in… I think it was Massachussets, a huge scandal in the Sixties! Or Seventies, I don’t know…”, I probably just sat there with a blank expression, for he continued with a sigh, “Lana Winters made an exposé on them! You have heard of Lana Winters, right?”

“I guess… that’s not the point! Running away from the hospital is not an option! I’m in the middle of my treatment with doctor Venable… and my meds, I need my meds!”

“I’m not saying we should run away for good! I just want to be with you out there… in the real world! Not as two patients in a hospital… just two people, spending some time together.”, it was really hard to resist him when he put his hand on the back of my head and rested his forehead on mine, like he did in that moment.

“Michael, you’re insane…”

“Yeah” he looked at me and said very matter-of-factly “haven’t you heard? I’ve been institutionalised and all…”, he lowered his voice before adding in confidential tones “… and so have you, by the way.”

I can’t say he didn’t have a point. We were not supposed to leave the premisses without a doctor’s consent. But crazy people are supposed to do crazy things, right? (“we don’t like to use the c-word in here, young lady”, was Michael’s response when I made this comment) It was just one night… just one small breath of fresh air in our claustrophobic lives. Then we’d be back to face the consequences or our little act of rebellion. Being such a girl-scout never did me much good, anyway. I thought could afford to break the rules for once!

I could still taste his kisses on my lips, and his low laughter was still ringing in my ears as I walked into my room to put on as many layers of warm clothes as I could, while Michael would be doing the same in his room. We agreed that carrying backpacks around the hospital halls would be kind of a giveaway. I didn’t have any money, or my phone, on me but somehow my smartcard had been overlooked when I checked in. We could use it to take the bus downtown, then Michael said he knew someone who could help us find a place to stay for the night. “I have a plan.”, he had said not sounding like a man with a plan in the slightest.

I slipped a toothbrush inside my coat pocket in the last minute and went out of my room to meet Michael. The surveillance wasn’t that heavy, but we thought that the two of us simply waltzing out of the front doors would be a little too much. So we would go through the kitchens, Doctor Eve encouraged us to visit the them whenever we felt hungry to get some fruit, so we knew we were allowed to go in there. The plan was to take the trash out… and leave. Not the most brilliant escape, but it could work.

Even though we were allowed in the kitchens, we agreed that it was pretty lucky that we weren’t running into anyone on our way there. Based on my small interaction with Dinah, I guessed it wasn’t common knowledge that Michael and I were on speaking terms with each other. It could buy us a little more time before someone realised we had left the hospital together if no one actually saw us. We were talking in whispers about our good fortune, when we turned around a corner and saw my silent friend Andre coming the opposite direction.

Both Michael and I stopped dead in our tracks. I could feel his tension by the way he squeezed the hand he was holding and the slight clenching of his jaw, while his other hand closed tight in a fist. I looked at Andre and, for the first time, he was staring back at me, straight into my eyes. The three of us stood frozen in the, otherwise deserted, corridor for a second that lasted an eternity. I saw one corner os Andre’s lips raising in a very unusual smirk, and he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, before taking a step to the side, staring intently at the nearest wall, like something very interesting was happening there, and resumed his walk, deliberately not looking at Michael and I. As we walked past him, my hand almost brushing Andre’s, I held his hand for the briefest moment, squeezing it very lightly, and whispered “thank you, my friend”. Michael and I kept walking towards the kitchen without looking back.

Once we were out of the hospital grounds we had to do our best to keep ourselves from just running towards to bus-stop, holding hands and shouting like children. The feeling was simply exhilarating! Breaking the rules. Being with Michael. The cold air on my face, and such and intense sense of freedom, that I could almost touch it. I had never felt so alive! Michael kept looking at me with bright eyes and the widest smile, that seemed quite unusual, on his face. The adorable way he wrinkled his nose when he giggled like a little boy made me all giddy and giggly, as well.

During the bus ride he told me about his godmother and the little cabin by the beach that belonged to his family. His uncle Beauregard had lived there for most of his adult life. Uncle Beau had been born with a serious malformation on his face and Constance, always so thoughtful, decided he would be more comfortable with some privacy. The selflessness on this woman! I probably showed plainly on my face exactly how I felt about Constance Langdon and her travesty of maternal instincts, because Michael was quick to assure me that the years he lived by the beach were the happiest in uncle Beau’s life.

I asked what had happened to him, that the cabin was now vacant. “He died”, we said at the same time. Michael chuckled softly “I guess that’s how most of my family stories end, isn’t it?”, he gave me a sad smile. “But he didn’t kill himself, right? You said he was happy…”, I really wanted to change the subject, but I didn’t know how. “Oh, no! He’d always had respiratory problems, my uncle… and then, one night, his apnea took him.”, he gave the smallest shrug. The Langdon family. Honestly. If curses are real, this family’s got them all.

We entered a small and cosy apartment building and rang the doorbell to his godmother’s. A short brunette woman opened the door, and her kind face lit up when her slanted eyes fell on her godson “baby Michael!”, they shared a warm and affectionate hug, “you’re so grown up! it’s been so long, boy… what brings you here?” Michael tensed again “aunt Adelaide, I… I need your help.”, he seemed genuinely embarrassed now that we were there. “You live with my mother, of course you need help! Come on in, I’ll get you something to eat… you too, Pretty Girl!”, she added looking at me, and turned around, already walking towards the kitchen.

“She called me… Pretty Girl?”, I was a little overwhelmed by her warm welcome, after spending so much time in the cold environment of the hospital.

“… Because you are.”, Michael gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and pulled me by the hand into his aunt’s apartment.

It so happened that Michael’s aunt Addy had Down Syndrome. We had a minor debate on the bus there, about how much of what we were doing we should actually tell her. We didn’t want to lie to her, it would be an abuse of her good-faith. But we couldn’t make her an accomplice, either. It wasn’t easy for Addy to get the right to live by herself in that apartment. Her mother didn’t think she could ever do that, even though all her teachers had said she could. In the end, she had left without her mother’s blessing. And Michael told me Constance said Addy had died to her the moment she crossed the street. Classic Constance.

Once we were all inside her small kitchen, Michael awkwardly explained that he wanted the keys to uncle Beau’s house just for the night, while aunt Addy made us sandwiches. He just told her the basics, and was willing to answer any questions she might have had with the truth. But Michael wasn’t exactly volunteering to tell her more than what was absolutely necessary. Aunt Addy gave us a funny knowing look and was silent for a moment before saying “You kids are in luck! I’m trying to sell the house… I even had a potential buyer visiting it the other weekend. A nice young man from Palos Verdes, he reminded me of you, Michael… he wants to make it a surprise present to his fiancée.”

“An entire house is quite extravagant for a surprise…”, Michael’s voice was a little muffled by a particularly large bite of his sandwich.

“I thought so, too… he even asked me if I knew a reliable dog-breeder. He wanted a white Samoyed puppy to go with the house.”

“That’s oddly specific…”, he looked at me, his eyes anxious for confirmation, and I nodded, not quite sure what it was that I was agreeing with, “And what did you tell him, aunt?”

“That a living creature shouldn’t be a surprise, and he should probably wait until they both moved in together before bringing one home. He agreed, so he can’t be that bad…”, by now I already knew that Michael’s frown, and his pensive look, meant that he wasn’t entirely convinced of this potential buyer’s good intentions, but aunt Addy didn’t seem to notice, she got up from her chair and went towards what I assumed was her bedroom, and returned with a backpack she promptly started filling with bags of chips, and a couple of juice boxes.

“Anyway”, aunt Addy continued, “I’m not even sure he’s actually buying the house. I think he wanted something bigger and fancier, you know how those people from PV can be… but I paid miss O’Hara to clean it all up before his visit, so the place is inhabitable once again!”

“You’re still in touch with Moira? How is she?”, there was a touch of sadness to Michael’s smile then.

“Oh, poor Moira… her mom is still in the hospital! All the stress has really taken its toll on her. You probably wouldn’t recognise her, Michael… she seems to have aged decades since you last saw her.”

“Who’s Moira?”, I asked timidly, curiosity taking the best over discretion.

“She worked at my grandmother’s house. And she made life a living hell for Moira… she was jealous, you see?”

“The fact that my father couldn’t take his eyes off of her didn’t help much, I guess…”

“Aunt Addy!”

“It’s true! Anyway, she worked for Michael’s mom when Viv was pregnant. Moira was very protective of her and… the babies.”, there was an awkward pause at that, and they both looked to the floor. Michael had to take a deep breath before he could go on.

“She cared about me… she even agreed to work for my grandmother again when I was a baby, just so she could look after me. She only quit when I left to live with my father…”

Is Langdon the word for Drama in any language? I feel like it should be.

We had the keys to uncle Beau’s cabin by the beach. We had our dinner in a backpack. And aunt Addy got us an Uber. It was time to say goodbye to Michael’s godmother, who was beginning to feel more like a Fairy Godmother by the minute. They shared another warm embrace in farewell. The kind you’d see between relatives that genuinely care for each other, but who meet a lot less often than they wanted. She made Michael promise to visit again soon, in spite of what his grandmother might have to say, and he was happy to agree (specially considering that I had told him the main content of Constance’s conversation with Doctor Venable). I got a big hug from Addy as well, and she touched my face briefly saying “I’m glad he’s found you, Pretty Girl”, in a confidential tone that Michael politely pretended he couldn’t hear. And we were off into the quickly darkening evening.

Uncle Beau’s house was far from being a palace. Not that I had expected it to be, anyway. But it was warm and somewhat cosy, with a constant soundtrack provided by the ocean. It might have been a simple abode, but it was neatly kept by aunt Addy. And very clean, thanks to Miss O’Hara’s efforts. I couldn’t help noticing, specially having just left Adelaide’s little apartment, how Constance’s children seemed to thrive in her absence. Maybe by making Michael live on his own, she might just be paying him a great favour.

“The fridge is on, do you know if this is the kind of whine that needs cooling?”, Michael was already taking the contents from the backpack to the kitchen counter. During the car ride to the beach we were transferring the fruits we actually took from the hospital kitchen - in case someone had caught us there - from our pokets into the backpack, and we found that our dinner plan included a bottle of wine. “It’s not sparkly, so I don’t think it’s a must… but rosé is usually served cold, I guess.”, I joined him in the kitchen, trying to make myself at home.

“I can’t believe she gave us a bottle of whine! Your aunt is a very interesting woman…”, I chuckled taking the wine to the fridge. “She really is something else, my aunt, she’s… Oh.”, Michael stoped dead, looking at the inside of the backpack. “What’s wrong?”, I joined him by the counter and peered into it as well, “Oh.”, I didn’t move either. The last items inside the backpack were a bunch of condoms, the kind that is given away for free in health centres. We both stood side by side for a moment, staring in mortified silence at the inner depths of the backpack. She really was something else, Adelaide Langdon.

“You said you wanted to take a shower…”, Michael said, breaking the awkward silence, looking at the wall instead of me, his face still somewhat pink.

“I did! I do… yes. Upstairs?”

“Yeah. Upstairs. It’s the…”

“… the room with a shower. Got it.”, I was already halfway out of the kitchen, hoping to God they kept their towels in the bathroom.

I took the quickest shower of my life, and came back downstairs to find the dining table nicely set by Michael, our small feast of fruits, sandwiches and chips spread among a few candles. He had also found a radio, and the air in the dim-lit room was filled with the sound of a soft, old-fashioned tune. Michael was pouring the juice from their boxes into proper glasses, he looked up as I approached and greeted me with the warmest smile I had seen on his beautiful face so far “Dinner is served, Ma’am”, with one hand on my waist, he pulled me closer and kissed me with infinite sweetness, “let me just get the wine”, he winked on his way to the kitchen. Apparently he had already recovered from the surprise-condom incident.

“Are you sure we’re supposed to have wine, Michael? We’re both on meds, and all…”, my own voice trailed off. I knew I was being a bummer.

“Well, we’re not taking our meds tonight… I think we can survive a little bit of wine”, he seemed so happy, and more relaxed than ever, I decided not to say anything else on this subject, and stop being such a girl-scout.

In spite of the lovely table that had been set, neither of us was particularly hungry, so we just shared one bag of potato chips and played a game of “Never Have I Ever”, passing the wine bottle back and forth between the two of us. It lead to a circle of oversharing, mild alcohol abuse, and a whole lot of laughing, as those games always do. We stopped for a moment to catch out breaths, cheek and belly muscles hurting from laughter, and we noticed that a sweet slow song was playing. It was an old song that I couldn’t name at the moment, and Michael extended a hand in my direction over the table and looked into my eyes, very serious all of a sudden, “May I have this dance, ma’am?”. Feeling the most embarrassingly wide smile spread across my face, I took the hand he offered.

_I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.*_

We just held each other close and let our bodies sway, very slowly, standing on the floor between the dining table and the sofa. Simply enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other, the smooth skin of his cheek resting on mine again. And in one of those silent agreements, that simply make sense when both parts are more than a little inebriated, we seemed to get to the conclusion that our clothes were almost ruining the experience. The closeness just didn’t seem enough with so much fabric between us. And in what felt like a very sensible decision at the time, we started undressing each other, as gently as possible, given the urgency we both felt. Exploring every bit of exposed skin with hands and lips, learning the ways of each other’s bodies, reading shapes and sensations, like braille.

I carefully pulled the rubber band that held his bun in place, and let his hair fall gloriously to his shoulders. I ran my fingers through the soft golden strands, wondering if this was more a caress to him or to myself. I was only faintly aware of the song that was playing now. It was by an Australian band that I liked, but hadn’t heard in a very long time. The name of the song was “Hold Me”, and that was pretty much all I could ask for in that moment. To be held by Michael. I was afraid I would crumble to dust if his large hands left the warmth of my skin, even for a moment.

_I’ve never been the praying kind_

_But lately I’ve been down upon my knees_

_Not looking for a miracle_

_Just a reason to believe_

Stumbling on each others feet, one’s lips never leaving the other’s, and closed in a tight embrace, we both landed on the sofa, gasping. He reached into the backpack that was laying on the floor by the sofa, and retrieved a small item. Some people say that the moment of putting on a condom is the least sensual thing that can happen between two people, but I disagree. I’ve always found this small ritual to be intensely erotic. Just the sheer anticipation of it makes me breathless. And if the gentleman in question is clever enough to make eye contact while he unrolls the piece of rubber over his length - and Michael was - I can almost feel myself opening up like a flower to welcome him. The intensity of his blue gaze on mine, while he stroked himself languidly with a soft moan was absolutely enticing.

I felt slightly lightheaded, almost dizzy, as Michael slowly eased himself on top of me, his legs between mine. The silky curtains of blond hair that framed his face falling gently on both sides of my own, caressing my cheeks so lightly it made me want to cry. It was only when he whispered “breathe. you’re not breathing… just breath.” softly against my lips that I realised that I really hadn’t been. I had started to take a deep breath when he just slid himself inside me, making me utter a pathetic little broken squeak in surprise. Without letting me adjust to his size, he chuckled, brushing his nose on mine, and pulled out a little before thrusting into me again, harder and deeper than before, making me cover my mouth with one hand in reflex, to muffle a tiny cry.

“No, no, no… don’t do that”, he took my hand in his and pulled it from my mouth, taking it to his lips and giving soft kisses on my knuckles before looking into my eyes again “I want to hear you.”, and gave me another hard thrust of his hips, to make sure I understood that I really had no choice on the matter: I was going to be as loud as he wanted me to be. And I was. I responded to his hard pounding with enthusiastic moans, and he looked at me with a kindness that contradicted the harshness of his movements. Smiling gently as I was writhing with desire.

“So warm…”, he whispered in my ear, nibbling my earlobe “… so soft”, I felt myself clenching hard around him when he reached the sweet spot inside me, making the air hitch in his throat “maybe soft’s not the right word, actually”, he looked at me, hooded eyes dark with lust. He whimpered sweetly, his eyes closed and a small crease between his eyebrows, when he shifted himself inside me in a way that made him touch that same spot again, making me throw my head back, moaning in pleasure, my legs shaking around his waist.

He was pulling himself out, and pushing back in, at an agonisingly slow pace. Deliciously agonising. I could savour every inch as he filled me up, digging my fingernails on the smooth skin of his back. The feral way his lips curled up with every thrust and the slight frown above his closed eyes gave him as much of an air of an angel, as of the devil he said he was at first. And I doubted anything in the world could be any more terribly beautiful than Michael was in that moment.

He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine as his thrusts became harder and faster, a smile dancing on his full lips between kisses. In my drunken haze, I lost myself in the gentle way the candlelight hit his blue eyes, he was the only thing that was real in the world. Impossibly close, so deep inside me, like we were just one single being for a second. The soft touch of his lips on mine were the only thing anchoring me to the world, as I came undone under the weight of his body, clenching myself hard around him. He blew an animalistic groan into my mouth as he found his own release not long after, and collapsed on top of me.

I could feel both of our bodies shaking as we tried to catch our breaths. My fingers tracing the lines of his back with the lightest of touches. Michael had one hand entangled in my hair, the other held a firm grasp on my backside. His lips barely leaving the curve of my neck, as his nose gently brushed my jawline, and I gave soft kisses to one of his shoulders.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms on the sofa, our legs entangled, my head resting on his chest. Until that moment, I had never understood the meaning of the expression “I’m so happy I could die”. It just never made any sense to me. Every shadow of a death wish I knew, came from the urge to make the pain go away, to make it stop. But, in that moment, snuggling inside Michael’s warm embrace, listening to the ever reassuring sound of his heartbeats, I understood. I had never felt such an intense sense of belonging. I felt safe and peaceful. If my life were to end the very next second, I can’t honestly say that I would mind.

_Death was sweet; it smelled of wine and stroked her hair.**_

We watched the sunrise from the roof of the cabin, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing a blanket. We listened to the sweet lullaby of the waves, hearts light with hope. We knew we were far from being the solution to each other’s problems. There was still a long way to go on the road to mental health for both of us. But it was the rise of a brand new day, it felt like the dawn of a new world. And, at least for now, we wouldn’t have to go down that road alone. The words to one of the songs I had heard while we were making love was still echoing in my brain…

_I was put together wrong_

_still I was made for you_

_when our stitches come undone_

_we come together like glue_

*From a letter to F Scott Fitzgerald, by Zelda

**From _Veronika Decides to Die_, by Paulo Coelho

(my main inspirations for this AU)


End file.
